Beauties and Beasts
by faraways
Summary: Neville Longbottom did not understand that girl.


**author; **brazensers  
**characters; **Neville and Luna. Mentioned Gran Longbottom.  
**pairings; **Neville/Luna.  
**wordcount; **1,200  
**disclaimer; **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of the author of the work from which this is derived.

**notes; **Written for the Creatures of Hogwarts Competition on HPFC.

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**Beauties and Beasts**

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**001.**

Neville Longbottom did not understand that girl.

All his life, he had been tossed around by Slytherin bullies, shoved off the edge of his House's bench at dinner, and jeered at in the hallway, or else whispered about behind his back. He was never as confident as Harry Potter, or as clever as Hermione Granger, or as humorous as Ron Weasley. There was no chance of him having friends, of being the "popular" student, as his mother was in her days at the castle.

But Luna Lovegood—_she_ could have it all. Friends, romance, money. She had those silky strands of blond hair Hannah Abbott twirled on her fingertips each morning while sitting on the plaid sofa in the East Wing library. She had those bright blue eyes Lavender Brown hypnotized the eager Ravenclaw boys with during drunken after-party nights. She had those long, angular legs his cousin Penny used on that red-haired waiter during their family get-together dinner. Luna was smart and funny and mysteriously arousing.

And yet, that blond hair was always ratted, as if Luna couldn't give a Hinkypunk's arse what she looked like, and those eyes were always covered with those stupid, clunky sunglasses that kept away the bad things, and those legs were always hidden behind the treasured, out-of-style rag dress her mother had piled together all those years ago in hope that she would grow into it and wear it on her marriage day. No wizard could see past Luna's cluelessness, or else beyond fact that her father was the one who blasted the Minister's left buttock off because he feared it was too bloated with Gesfertuzzes, whatever the fuck those were.

Yes, Luna really _could_ have it all, but she was so, so innocent, and so, so oblivious.

**002.**

Neville truly did not understand that girl.

He proposed to her anyway, in hopes that they could mold each other, and grow together, at the small Muggle vintage shop she liked, on the eighth of September. The little handful of friends he had urged the marriage like there was no tomorrow, and Neville loved her, he really did. The attraction that overwhelmed him whenever she came near was so unbearable, he found himself shaking at some points. On that chilly September day, he had bought her a blue-and-silver-striped knit scarf—_Ravenclaw colors_, she'd remarked—and they had eaten small bowls of bangers and mash from the street vendor. It's true, he'd fallen head-over-heels for Luna Lovegood, and he was shameless.

_Everything'll work out, _he kept telling himself, smiling widely and trying to be that happy man he'd seen in all the magazines and television programs, that optimistic light in the middle of a disaster.

**003.**

When the time came that she was prancing down the aisle in that pre-made wedding "dress", her father dressed in yellow from head-to-toe, a proud blaze in his eyes, he knew there was no hope, no light. His fingers began twitching, and as Luna turned to face him, blue eyes glittering like a leprechaun's gold, he broke. She was a woman—a woman more mature than the whole of Hogwarts put together. She didn't worry herself with what others thought, and that was so, so beautiful.

But Luna Lovegood was _too _beautiful. Neville was still just a boy, lost in the hope that he could be beautiful, too. That she would make him better. That she could attain such a status for them as a couple that the whole Weasley-Potter clan would be begging to have dinner at their house every night, instead of ignoring the letters he sent every so often proposing a sort of reunion.

Being beautiful was not meant for Neville. He had been ugly and stupid and clumsy and monstrous in the world's eyes all his life, and that wasn't going to change because he married a woman that no one else understood. He was the only one that saw how truly gorgeous Luna was.

**004.**

So when he was asked that question, that one that every human fantasizes about at some point in their life, trapped up in dreams of true love and hope, he answered her with not the truthful answer, but the right answer. He let her go, all her beauty and innocence; he let go all of that so that maybe someone who actually deserved her, who was just as beautiful, could spend his days with her and love her right.

_We were never meant to be_, he thought bitterly after denouncing his love later that evening, ripping off the stupid red bowtie his father had bought him. Neville stood in front of the antique mirror his Gran had given him as an early wedding gift, picking apart his every detail. The way his stomach rolled over his dress pants in layers, the way his hair flopped in front of his eyes like a stubborn trip to the loo, the way the toenails on his right foot curved in while the others curved out. _Beauty and the beast, we were_.

Neville Longbottom finally understood Luna Lovegood—but he could not bring himself to care. He just wanted to forget.

And when he found himself driving to the Muggle bar on the corner, the one with that scruffy-bearded bartender and the faded-out purple lights and the ripped-up booth leather, it felt _good_. He ordered as many drinks as his money could buy, not caring what he was given, as long as it made him forget. And while he was drunk and delirious and snogging the waitress in the too-short black skirt, he knew everything was just fine, because he was forgetting.

**005.**

Later on, Neville was at home in a pair of decorated green boxers, stuffing his face with Gran's "remedy mashed potatoes", induring her ranting easily, letting the words float through one ear and out another, feeling fine and dandy and sure of everything.

Luna Lovegood, blond and innocent and long-legged, would become popular and beloved and rich, he knew. But not with him around—he could never give her what she needed. He was the boy whose head was full of Hogwarts toilet water. He was the boy who couldn't manage to find a date to the Yule Ball in fourth year, until the desperate-to-go Weasley girl asked _him_ last resort. He was the boy whose own Gran made fun of his gigantic, father-inherited teeth all through school years.

He was the ugly, unwanted beast, and he knew there was no beauty for him.


End file.
